


Under The Burnt Orange Sky

by lorannah



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 13:53:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorannah/pseuds/lorannah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set at the end of Journey's End, Martha and the Doctor talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under The Burnt Orange Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Dowload link: http://www.box.net/shared/ci10dnp6o1

 

Those first long days after Martha left and Rose was given away and Donna was lost, the Doctor moves simply for the sake of moving. Cruelly, unthinkingly his subconscious footsteps drag him along the path that Donna had planned. He can think of no place else to go.

Really he’s just avoiding the inevitable because Davros was wrong, sometimes he has no choice but to look back, whether he dares or not.

Things have to be done and decisions have to be made.

He’s considering those choices, testing them and tasting them as the mountains of Feldoon sway beneath his feet – stony bones creaking and groaning.

He’s thinking about Jack, as he runs from the Darklings beneath the mountain. But even with all those tools and teams and technology, Jack isn’t right for this, despite himself he still reaches quickly for his guns. And the Doctor knows about retcon and that is too close a pain. Too deep a cut.

He moves on.

Gripping Charlie Chaplin’s hand, clinging to a building, the Doctor considers Sarah Jane – brave and trustworthy and faithful. But she never knew Donna, never even met her until his mind had crept through the cracks to poison hers, it feels too impersonal.

He moves on, pausing in the Tardis and realising that Donna had only planned this far, that his path has vanished.

And he knows he needs Martha.

He calls her.

“Can I come round?”

* * * * *

Martha makes tea as she waits for the Doctor, enjoying the familiarity of the small rituals.

It was the first thing she’d leant to do in the Tardis, once she’d finished exploring and started wondering if she’d made a mistake, she’d demanded that the Doctor show her  where he made the tea.

She’d pressed one of the finished cups into the Doctor’s hands and he’d taken a sip, eyes fixed on her and then grinned and an unsettled feeling had taken hold in her stomach. It hadn’t been completely unpleasant.

It had become a pattern, a routine, the oddly clichéd comfort of tea after each pain. A moment of quietness between them. The memory has changed since, now it’s mixed with those rare gifts of tea as she’d moved through the world, spreading stories. It’s both sweet and a little bitter.

An unsettled feeling seems to have taken root again now as she stirs a teaspoon of sugar into his cup. She’s uncertain of this feeling. Thrown by it.

She knows that they need to talk but she’d expected longer to prepare herself and the Doctor had sounded flat on the phone – she’s not sure what to expect – a confession or a lecture.

Martha hears the knock on the door but her mother reaches it first. She gathers the mugs towards her and heads into the hallway in time to see her mother press a sad kiss onto the Doctor’s cheek, her hand resting on his arm for a second and then she leaves them, climbing the stairs.

The Doctor’s soaking, water dripping onto the carpet, it’s been raining for two days solid now.

She pushes the cup into his hand and he smiles and it’s almost like old times. He looks shattered.

He moves through into the living room without speaking a word, Martha hesitates for a second, the door still open, peering into the rain. But there’s no one else outside, no one following him.

The Doctor sits on the sofa and she lets him drink the whole cup of tea before she says anything, wondering how long it has been for him, how much he has lost since they said goodbye two days ago.

He sets the cup carefully on the coffee table and breaks the silence.

“I need you to do something for me.”

“No,” the decision is instant, solid, but she wavers for a second as the Doctor looks at her, surprise and hurt vivid in his eyes.

“I’ll do anything you need,” she clarifies, “But I don’t want you to tell me what it is yet.”

“Why?” He asks.

“Because you’ll tell me and then you’ll leave and you won’t talk to me. That’s what we always do.”

“But not this time?”

“Not this time,” she agrees.

“What do you want to talk about, Martha Jones?”

He sounds tired but accepting and there is a hint of amusement in his tone. Her mind moves quickly through the questions in her head, casting them aside.

“I want to talk about what Davros said,” she admits a moment later, “What he said about us.”

The Doctors face hardens instantly, muscles tight in his cheek, lips and expression closed.

“Yes?”

It’s not so much a question as a challenge, he doesn’t want her to talk about it and for a moment she feels the same. But it needs to be said.

“You don’t make us into weapons,” she tells him.

“No?”

“No. But sometimes you do make us into soldiers.”

There’s a pause.

“Do you think that’s better?” He asks, she can tell he’s struggling to keep his tone even, quiet.

“Yes.”

“Perhaps if you’d seen all the things soldiers have done, you wouldn’t see much difference.”

She feels a brief twinge of anger, all those UNIT soldiers who had died, wiped away by the Daleks, all those people she’d known – but she didn’t want to turn this into a fight. She thinks the Doctor knows what she’s thinking anyway – she sees the expression in his eyes.

And she knows they are already arguing. Even if it is a quiet, reluctant argument.

“The difference is that a soldier makes decisions, chooses what path they take, weapons just destroy things.”

She’s not explaining it very well and she knows it. The Doctor nods for a second.

“Choices. Have you destroyed the Osterhagen Key?”

Martha looks away, uncomfortable, frustrated. She looks back at him.

“UNIT are dismantling it. I convinced them that too many people know of its existence now, that it’s more of a threat than a protection.”

His eyebrows twitch slightly, she knows he thinks they should have destroyed it for noble reasons, not practical ones.

And she knows that he’ll hate what she’s going to say next.

“I’m not sure it was the right decision.”

The Doctor doesn’t reply, but he stands, his answer clear in his stance. For a moment Martha wants to back down, but she can’t or won’t.

“It could have saved the universe.”

He’s gone, the door slamming behind him, before she can say anything else.

Martha sinks onto the sofa, pulling in deep breaths, steadying herself. Waiting.

She only has to wait ten minutes before there’s a knock on the door. She feels weary as she opens it.

The Doctor again, wet again as if nothing has changed but his expression is softer. They look at each other ruefully for a second.

“How long?” She asks.

“Difficult to tell, Tardis time, you know” he smiles at her. “About three weeks.”

He reaches out to her, takes her hand gently in his own.

“Will you come with me? Just one trip.”

* * * * *

The Tardis hums as Martha walks through the door, singing softly to her, it has missed her. It misses all of them. A constant companion in his regret.

She smiles, her hand brushing the console, her face lighting up and the Doctor’s heart feels less heavy.

He’d remembered her angry, scared cries when he was still with Donna and the Tardis had trapped her. A painful reminder of what he had done to her. And he’d thought twice about doing this to her again.

She turns, still smiling, still moving.

“So where are we going?”

He just grins at her, matching her happiness and twists the dial, feeling the Tardis leap joyously through space and time.

He’d thought twice as well about taking her here, knowing that he should but he’d wanted her to see. Needed her to understand, to comprehend.

As they arrive she almost skips to the door and for the first time since he’d left Wilf in the rain, he remembered the excitement of stepping into a new world.

Even if this isn’t a new world for him.

* * * * * *

Martha would be lying if she pretended she didn’t miss the thrill of opening the Tardis doors and seeing what lay outside.

This time she’s greeted by a bright sky – all orange and red – even the grass beneath her feet is red. It’s as if autumn has claimed the world as its own.

She closes her eyes for a second, wanting to freeze that first image, remember it. The wind is soft against her skin and she imagines she can hear soft music. It reminds her of the Tardis.

She opens her eyes again stepping deeper into the world, she sees a tree, a bench beneath it, silver leaves reflecting the red of the sky and the ground and looking up realises that twin suns are shining through glass and she knows where she is.

She turns back to the Doctor, he is stood by the Tardis, lingering close to it. His expression unreadable.

“Gallifrey?”

He manages to smile.

“You always wanted to see it,” a moment’s hesitation, “I thought you should see it.”

She turns back, stunned, lost, her heart singing and aching at the same time.

“It’s beautiful,” she tells him.

“I lied to you,” he says. “I didn’t tell you everything. There _was _a war, we fought the Daleks and in the end, as it turns out, we did lose. But that’s not why Gallifrey burned – it burned because I made it burn – because I thought it was the only solution, the only way to win.”

She feels tears stinging her eyes and almost hates him for why he brought her here but can’t. Instead she turns back to him, his expression is bleak. She wraps her arms around him and he gathers her in his.

“I was a soldier,” he whispers into her hair, “I never want to be again.”

They stand for a long time, wrapped in solitude together, until they settle at last side by side in silence on the bench.

They are on a small paved patio overlooking the citadel. Martha’s eyes seek to find every hidden corner of it, wanting to remember every inch, fighting against the deep sadness threatening to choke her. It’s gone. Dead.

Beside her the Doctor is lost.

“Do you know why I joined UNIT?” She says at last.

The Doctor pauses and she wonders if he will refuse to listen but he looks at her and shakes his head softly. Accepting the explanation.

“I thought I was mad,” she admits, “I mean at first, all I’d wanted to do was to forget everything that happened, to get away from it and there I was getting involved again. But I couldn’t take it at the hospital anymore.”

She’s struggling to find a way to explain.

“People would come in and I’d recognise them from that year and sometimes... there was this man, one of the first people who helped me and he saved my life and he came in and I just hugged him. I think it scared him,” she laughed quietly for a moment at the memory.

“But there were others, people who’d done terrible, terrible things and they’d come in and I’d have to pretend and treat them and heal them because they hadn’t done those things anymore. But I knew they could... that they would... it made me feel sick.”

The Doctor has stayed silent beside her, watching her, she’s not used to him being this quiet – he’s always been lively and talkative – but now he’s listening until she lapses into silence unable to speak for a moment.

“The Master...” he starts, his voice tired, but she interrupts. There’s more she needs to say.

“That’s it, that’s what I’m trying to say – he didn’t make them do any of it, most of them – didn’t control them or manipulate them. He may have made that world but he didn’t make them – they chose what they did. Because they were human and we can be wonderful but we can be terrible as well.

“But that’s out choice, not his and not yours.”

She takes his hand where it lays next to hers on the bench and for a moment they both look away staring across the citadel again.

“I hope that I never have to make the decision that you had to make. But if I need to, one day, I will,” she says, unapologetic but sympathetic. “I wish we both lived in worlds where there was no need to fight, but we don’t and there are so many things worth fighting for.”

He’s silent still and she knows, deep down, that they will never completely agree, not on this. But maybe that was alright.

“I’m sorry I put you in those situations,” the Doctor said at last.

With a sigh, she leans against him, hands still clasped, resting her head against his shoulder.

“Don’t be, I wouldn’t have missed any of it.”

It’s finally been long enough that it feels like the truth.

“Now what do you need me to do?”

And beneath a burnt orange sky he tells her about Donna.

* * * * * *

A week later, Martha is sat in the jobcentre pretending to be Tish, who will probably kill her if she finds out, listening to Donna shout.

“I don’t know why I don’t have a doctor’s note! I told you I have amnesia!”

She’s contacted everyone, let them all know - no one must see Donna, no one must mention the Doctor.

Torchwood have set up sensors so that if any aliens come within a mile of her, alarms will sound and everyone close can race in and make sure that Donna Noble doesn’t notice anything. Following an old pattern, Jack had said.

Martha’s breaking her own rules, but she wanted to make sure that she was alright. Needed to.

Once the Doctor leaves, all they have, the abandoned companions is each other. It’s important.

Five minutes of shouting later Donna is sent to calm down. She flops, angrily, down on a seat next to Martha.

“Anyone would think that that lot are idiots,” Martha says with a grin. “They’re probably all looking up what amnesia means right now.”

Donna looks at her suspiciously. Martha isn’t worried, she spent a long year learning how to make people trust her.

After a moment, Donna laughs and smiles back.

“So what do they have you in for?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> My policy on permissions for use of my work is that you don't in fact need my permission to make art, record podfic, remix, critique, translate, save, share or otherwise reuse and interact with anything I've done. I'd love it if you'd share a link with me when you're done.
> 
> Any comments are also welcome – I'd love to hear what worked for you and (truly) what didn't or about those really obvious typos that my mind can't see anymore. If you don't want to comment publicly, feel free to e-mail me. Everything and anything will be loved and cherished.


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